


Dead men don't lie

by thecrownofthereveur



Series: Under Gotham's rainy sky [8]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, Gotham (TV)
Genre: Breathplay, Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, Non-Explicit Sex, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-14
Updated: 2015-07-14
Packaged: 2018-04-09 08:14:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4340930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thecrownofthereveur/pseuds/thecrownofthereveur
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim soon found out that starting a witch-hunt against Flass wasn’t going to be that easy. No one was willing to give information. The guy was being protected by someone with influence and there wasn’t any way Jim Gordon could get him. Except if he asked for someone else’s help. A shiver ran through Jim’s spine at that realization.Oswald’s green eyes appeared in his head, blazing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dead men don't lie

**Author's Note:**

> After almost twenty years without up-dating I finally wrote something.

The first time Jim spent the night in the club, he regretted every minute of it. He hated the place. He hated the décor, he hated the environment. He hated that Oswald’s thugs were all around, ever watching their boss. He had even felt reticent to try the alcohol from the bar until Oswald, with pursed lips, had told him, ‘if you are going to have _a few drinks_ every time you drop by, you may as well drink them here.’ Jim couldn’t makereal objections then. The club was having, using nice words, a poor outset. They hadn’t even opened yet, but Oswald was already having troubles with the maintenance, something to do with the alcohol procurement. But although Jim had begun despising the place, soon enough it had become a familiar one. It was at least far more comfortable than Oswald’s mother’s or Jim’s apartment. More spacious, less clandestinity. The bedroom upstairs, which Jim had entered the first time with the unsettling thought of it having been Fish Mooney’s old room, was more and more cozy with the passing of time. Even the bed in the middle was now known ground for Jim.

‘Lie on your back,’ he said,exasperated, steadying himself on the bed to not fall on the floor. Oswald did as he was told without much contemplation, which was always a bitunsettling. Jim sighed, the noise of the raindrops in the window loosening his muscles. Oswald was for some reason more rushed than normal, grabbing and tugging at his clothes. Jim swallowed, sinking in the mattress and onto the body beneath him. ‘Yes, that’s good,’ he said, low, clearing his throat. Oswald was moving slowly but insistently between his legs, his calf pulling lightly at Jim’s thigh. His mind went, for some reason, to yesterday morning, easy case, resolved in some hours. A man had thrown himself from a window after murdering his girlfriend. His head had been smashed against the ground disturbingly. Jim hadn’t had any real reaction to it; he was already accustomed to these things. He didn’t like it, though. Jim couldn’t help but wonder why the man had done it. Ending his life had never occurred to him. Neither to seriously hurt someone he loved. Oswald gasped. Jim came back to the pale skin in front of him. Oswald’s naked, skinny ribs were breathing heavily. He passed a thumb above them gently, then over a nipple. His underwear was already wet against his skin.

‘Jim,’ Oswald said, but the detective’s eyes were lost in the white wall in front of him. Today he was strangely decentralized. He had to pay some attention at least, Jim told himself. Oswald was already tugging at his wrists, his loud voice filling the quiet room with far too exaggerated noises. Jim wasn’t interested in hearing them. He kissed Oswald, partly to shut him up, and caressed with affection the smooth skin behind his ears. Jim took his time to run his lips over Oswald’s chin, pulse and collarbone. He had hoped to extend this for a bit longer, but hasty hands kept tugging at his arms, insistent.

‘Hey, have some patience,’ Jim said, frowning, thrusting deeper. However, he quickly found his hands traveling from hipbones, to shoulders, to neck. He carefully stroked the skin above Oswald’s adam’s apple, before gripping harder. Jim shifted in the bed. This part he didn’t like. Oswald’s pale face slowly converting from white to pink to a dangerous red. He had been frightened the first time. Jim made a rough sound with his throat, pressure slowly building in his low belly. He felt eager suddenly. Oswald’s face when he let go, airless, desperately wanting to breathe, caused a quick, displeasing turn in his stomach that made his back arch. A morbid feeling that Jim somehow found arousing. Then, he was falling. He couldn’t hear Oswald’s voice properly anymore. His hazy vision fell to the pillows, following his body. It was still raining outside, Jim noticed. It was always raining in this fucking city.

 

Jim woke up almost two hours later. The sky outside was already dark. He took a moment to adjust his vision, blinking repeatedly. Jim, nervous, took his phone from the nightstand beside him. It wasn’t very late at night yet, he saw, relieved. He would have hated to stay the night. Not just because his shift started very early tomorrow, but because that was a behavior he had started to avoid. Having breakfast in a bar with a smiley Oswald wasn’t something about which he fantasized. Jimthought of having a quick shower, getting dress and leaving quietly, until he noticed the slow breathing next to him. Oswald was still deeply asleep, his skinny form expanding and contracting. He seemed almost appeased, which he never was while awake.

Jim felt, suddenly, an overwhelming guilt. He didn’t know why. Neither where it came from. But Oswald’s cheerful figure moving all around him, always overfriendly, always eager to please, came to his mind to haunt him. And while in darkness, for some reason, those feelings were always more crushing. Jim dared then to put a finger on pale skin, maybe just for insane curiosity. He moved his thumb across the jawbone, slowly moving to the right ear. He felt it again, a strange, odd mixture. Fondness, excitement, somehow revulsion. Affection. His heart pounding loudly in his throat. Oswald’s eyebrows twitched slightly. The idea of leaving just yet quietly, almost unnoticeably, abandoned Jim.

***

Oswald opened his eyes expecting to meet the darkness of his room, a deep silence, or maybe his mother’s voice, passing in the kitchen. He didn’t. He remembered now. This was the room upstairs, his office in the club, the place he had been sleeping these last weeks. He breathed, not quite opening his eyes. A pale moon was still shining across the window. A cool air was moving the curtains, making the shadows in the floor look larger and deeper. His eyelids trembled. Oswald wondered if he was dreaming. He was suddenly conscious of the weight of a hand placed on his hip. Jim Gordon’s hand. Oswald shifted on the bed, sinking in the sheets. He felt kisses, quietly moving over his skin. Something wet moving in his neck, drawing circles. He chuckled slightly, grabbing a pull of unknown hair. A dark shadow on the floor moved slightly, Oswald’s shiny shoes placed beside the bed. Oswald would have liked to keep the moment somewhere in his mind, to be able to get back to it every time he felt like it. But he wouldn’t. He didn’t feel anything else.

***

During his first days back in the station, Jim almost felt glad of returning. He began his shifts with a strange enthusiasm that he had once only connected with his first, naïve days on the job. He felt himself filled with a feeling of purpose that he hadn’t experienced in weeks. He had wanted to do things right. To fix this city no matter what it cost him. But once past this phase of inspiration, he slowly returned to his usual state of contained bitterness. Things hadn’t changed much. Harvey was still a cynical drunk, Captain Essen was still acquiescent with everything around her, Jim still could feel the dead glares of his co workers in his back. He had resigned himself, like plenty of times before, to the fact that he was alone in here.

However, he _was_ still a detective and the responsibilities that this meant weren’t ignored by Jim. So when Leon Winkler’s murder case was threatened to be handed to Major Crimes, Jim knew right away that the Captain wanted him off the case. He had already made suggestions of investigating Arnold Flass, and with Jim’s record, everyone knew that was going to end badly. Jim fought to keep the case. But he soon found out that starting a witch-hunt against Flass wasn’t going to be that easy. No one was willing to give information. The guy was being protected by someone with influence and there wasn’t any way Jim Gordon could get him. Except if he asked for someone else’s help. A shiver ran through Jim’s spine at that realization.Oswald’s green eyes appeared in his head, blazing.

He would, days later, regret this decision. He would scream. He would curse this city for being how it was. He would curse himself for being a fool.

***

When Jim arrived at the club that night Oswald had been sitting behind his desk, occupied by some documents. When Jim walked in, he had seemed genuinely surprised. He had stood up, all too willing to help him in whatever he needed. Maybe that was what had infuriated the detective so much, but Oswald really couldn’t tell. At the time he had blinked, studying the man’s face briefly before dismissing his thugs with a movement of his hand. It hadn’t promised to be a pleasant conversation.

‘James, I believe you are a bit over excited,’ Oswald said carefully. Jim’s furious eyes were already looking at him from the other side of the desk. ‘I think if maybe…’

‘Don’t fucking call me James,’ Jim shouted at him with a hoarse voice. An afflicted tone, one that Oswald had never heard before. Jim took a long stride towards him, probably just to startle Oswald. Jim liked that, sometimes, to feel that he could control him, manhandle him at his wish. Oswald enjoyed it at times, somehow, but those were his own unspoken sensations, ones he would have never dare to try and translate into words. But this time wasn’t like that. He felt oddly reticent to give Jim what he wanted. So when he felt breath against his face, Oswald didn’t even flinch at the sudden nearness. He just blinked again, putting his forgotten cup of wine aside. ‘You asked me to not hurt anyone, Jim,’ he said, ‘and I didn’t. I swear it.’

But Jim didn’t seem nearly pleased by his words, because he stepped even closer, angry fingers closing around Oswald’s shirt. This time Oswald did flinch. He closed his eyes, containing a tremble, before opening them once again. ‘I told you, I didn’t.’

‘Don’t lie to me,’ Jim whispered menacingly. ‘What did you do to officer Delaware?’ Oswald tried to step back. Jim wasn’t behaving like himself tonight, and one long look to his blue eyes told Oswald exactly why. ‘Ji- Jim, I’ll deeply appreciate if you let me go,’ he said, trying to free himself from Jim’s grip.

But Jim didn’t. Instead he grabbed Oswald’s arm with his free hand, trapping him between his body and the desk. A rush of uneasiness overcame Oswald. This seemed suddenly dangerous. He could tell Jim was slightly drunk by the smell of his breath. ‘Jim, y-you have to tr-trust me,’ Oswald said, and he found himself smiling apologetically, an old habit that wasn’t helping at all right now. ‘Gabe may have been a bit rough with his methods but I-I didn’t – ’

Jim laughed with bitterness.

‘Of course you didn’t,’ he said, hardening his grip on Oswald’s arm.

Oswald stammered, his mind blank. He reminded himself to keep eye contact. He had to make it seem real even if he wasn’t saying anything at all. He made then a pitchy, horrible sound, the most miserable he could manage, expecting Jim to let him go immediately. This time, however, none of it worked out. ‘Jim, I…’

‘Don’t fucking lie to me!’ Jim screamed. ‘Don't you fucking dare lie to me again!’

The next thing Oswald heard was the noise of the glass of wine crashing against the ground.

***

‘I have to go.’

So Jim had told Harvey some hours ago while having a drink. It was still early in the night, but the bar was already filling up with people. A brunette woman with thick curly hair had smiled, interested, at Harvey from behind a table. Harvey had smiled back, lifting his drink towards her. She was most probably a hooker but he didn’t really care at this point. He was already drunk.

‘What are you talking about, Jimbo?’ he laughed, ‘Night’s still young!’

But Jim had only made a grimace at that, grabbing his things to leave. But judging by the way his legs failed him while getting up, Harvey could tell he wasn’t too sober either. ‘I don’t care,’ Jim said, steadying himself. ‘I’m leaving.’

Music was playing loud on the stage. Harvey was in the mood to get drunk until unconsciousness, and ladies were already gathering in the bar, making eyes to anyone that would buy them a drink. This was a nice place, and Harvey frowned, because in that precise moment he couldn’t understand how anyone would want to go to somewhere else. ‘Hey, Jim, wait.’ he said, grabbing his partner by the shoulder. ‘You were the one who wanted to come. Plus, you deserve this shit, you just arrested Arnold fucking Flass! That ain't small thing.’

‘Get off me,’ Jim said brusquely, a bit too low. ‘I’m wasted, and I have something to do.’

Harvey laughed at that. ‘I think you are far too drunk to do anything right now, kid.’

Jim’s glare was unfriendly, to say the least.

Harvey frowned. He could tell something wasn’t right. Jim’s mind wasn’t there. It hadn’t been for a while. He had spent the whole night sitting in the bar, looking at his empty glass just to have it filled again and again. Right now his face wasn’t the one of a man celebrating success, but the one of someone who wanted to forget it. Harvey hesitated, taking a moment to look at his partner’s face.

‘Jim,’ he called, stopping his partner from leaving just yet. He found himself surprisingly sober for a moment. ‘How did you get that information to catch Flass? You never told me.’

Jim’s face froze, only for a moment. He didn’t answer. A light hunch started to appear in Bullock’s chest. How had Jim ‘honest man’ Gordon gotten a big fish like Flass arrested? How, without some outside help? ‘What’s that important thing you have to do, Jim?’ Harvey said, making his partner still himself in a strange way. Harvey wasn’t a total moron, he had been a detective long before Jim and he knew when someone was hiding something. There was only one person Jim would have asked to investigate Flass, the only criminal in the whole of Gotham that would have been willing to help him.

‘Jim, listen,’ Harvey said seriously, a bad taste in his mouth. Jim’s eyes were fixed on him. ‘I don’t know what’s going on between you and that fucking penguin. I don’t know if he’s giving you names or information or whatever. But that little shit betrayed Fish and Maroni and _now_ is working for Falcone, why in the world do you think he’s not going to do the same to you?’

Harvey was just telling him this like some kind of warning. Deep inside he cared about his partner’s well being. But he wasn’t ready for the impact that those words were going to cause.

‘I’ll try to remember it,’ Jim said with perturbing calmness, his whole body completely still. Jim’s drunk eyes were looking at Harvey submerged in some animal rage that he hadn’t seen before. Harvey could see his jawbone clenching, the muscles in his throat all tensed. Jim lifted an arm and for a small second Harvey truly believed he was going to be punched in the face. He wasn’t. Jim was only grabbing his badge from the counter.

‘Goodbye, Harvey,’ he said, turning around to leave, his footsteps heavy against the floor. When he disappeared through the bar’s door, Harvey exhaled, rubbing his temples. One hour later he was still there, looking at his glass, not really drinking anymore, replaying the scene over and over in his head. It was stupid. He couldn’t even ask Jim properly if all this gossip about him had some truth in them. Harvey was too afraid of the answer he could get. Even so, maybe Jim’s expression that night was the only declaration he needed.

***

Jim had wanted to do it. He had. Really. The nervous grin on Oswald’s face during all their fight had urged him to, the way he had talked, the way he had moved. When it was over, he could hardly recall what had happened at all. His head was spinning and he couldn’t concentrate on anything. If he tried to, he came back invariably to the memory of officer Delaware at his feet just hours ago, begging him to not hurt his wife, to not hurt his children. If not, then it went to Oswald, his closed eyes expecting the blow. Something twisted inside Jim’s stomach. Oswald still hadn’t moved from the floor, eyes wide open, a hand on his face.

‘ _You are a criminal, you are just like every other criminal on the streets_ ,’ Jim remembered himself whispering, pacing around the office, his hands on his head. He knew it then: this was far beyond from what had happened with Arnold Flass. _‘Why do I keep doing this?_ ’ he had asked, ‘ _Why do I keep doing this if I know what kind of man you are? The things you are capable of?_ ’

Oswald hadn’t answered any of his questions. Maybe it had been better like that.

He was no longer the man he believed himself to be, Jim realized. He had changed. Something inside his whole composition was distorting. And at this thought, he couldn’t help but feel rage building up in his chest. He would have liked to scream. But he didn’t. A tightness in his throat choked him. He wanted to escape. His muscles felt so tired, his eyes felt so tired, stuck in the floor as though they’d never look up again. He was lost.

Jim’s eyes were watery when he glanced at Oswald again.

The next thing Jim heard was a strong knock on the office’s door. An alarmed voice, Gabe’s voice asking: ‘Boss, s’everything all right?’

‘Yes, Gabe,’ Oswald had said. And Jim was surprised by how incredibly calm his voice came out. ‘Everything is all right.’

Jim wondered why, disconcerted. If someone came one night to his office, screaming to then beat him, Jim wouldn’t even have tried to contain himself. He would have fought back, he would have defended himself. But Oswald never did those things. Instead he made his way towards Jim, silently dragging his bad leg with him. Jim could sense him staring. But he didn’t dare to look up. Not to Oswald’s green eyes, neither to his bruised face. Instead he thought about the man who had killed his girlfriend, how his head had looked smashed against the pavement. He felt his mouth dry.

‘Have you ever killed someone?’ Jim asked.

Oswald was silent, maybe struck by the sudden words.

‘It’s a strange moment to ask that,’ he said simply. But Jim shook his head with impatience.

‘Just answer me,’ he said, ‘Please, just tell me.’

Another silence. Jim could hear Oswald swallowing hard before exhaling. Even then Jim knew he would never confess a crime like this one. Not to him. Not to anyone. He felt pressure building up in his throat again. Suddenly he didn’t know what to think about this. He felt like the answer could destroy him, but he wasn’t sure why. He didn’t love Oswald, deep inside him he felt like he never would. So then, he didn’t have to feel like this. Confused. Betrayed. Yet still, he did.

Jim saw Oswald’s eyes wanderon the floor for a minute and he asked himself if maybe he was choosing the right words for his answer. When they looked up at him again, Jim met Oswald’s face, a mild swelling forming around his split lip, the green eyes, and a cold decision written above them. ‘No, Jim,’ he said plainly, as if none of this had been important, ‘I haven’t.’

Jim let go of a breath he didn’t knew he was holding, letting all his worries wash over his body. He believed him. He truly did, he desperately needed to do so. Even if he knew this was all another lie.

***

It had been raining since around three in the morning. Jim knew it because he had stood up from his bed very early in the morning just to found himself incapable of falling asleep again. When Harvey called him saying something about a corpse found near the center of the city, Jim was already dressed and drinking his morning coffee. He cleaned his lips with a napkin and took his badge and gun before leaving his apartment. This was their fifth body of the week.

Hours later, files were spread all over Jim’s desk. Reports carelessly opened, threatening to get mixed up or lost. Jim had been looking at them the whole afternoon, trying to figure out this case. Harvey wasn’t at the station. He was out, dealing with witnesses or small informants who could procure them more information. If he was doing it for the case or just to avoid him Jim didn’t know. He had decided to ignore his partner’s silent treatment from the last weeks. Harvey was, even if Jim disapproved of his rough methods, a great detective when it came to fieldwork. Maybe something would come out soon. Meanwhile, he would stick to the ballistic results that Nygma had given him.

Soon after Jim had finished rearranging his files, Harvey sat on his desk. He had walked in heavily, maybe tired after a lot of days working without rest. He put his boots on his desk sighing, ‘Someone is looking for you out there, Jimmy.’

Jim frowned at the nick name. He glanced at his partner, confused, then at the entrance of the station, looking for known faces.

‘Some Ms. Kapelput I think,’ Harvey said with sarcasm. ‘Maybe she’s here to talk about a wedding. You know, mom’s things.’

Jim forced himself to stand up without looking at Harvey. He hadn’t seen Oswald Cobblepot in nearly two weeks, and he was planning in keeping it like that. Jim’s confused eyes searched the station, truly finding the old lady talking with Captain Essen. She was dressed in an old dress similar to the one she had worn when Jim met her. Jim asked himself, puzzled, what was the woman doing here. But then her eyes drifted to Jim, glassy, one strange desperation written in all her features. Jim felt his heart sink, trying to escape. He would later understand the reason behind the old woman’s tears, just to feel a cold chill freezing his blood at the late news. Oswald Cobblepot, not as surprisingly as it could have been, had gone missing again.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank's to Allowisp for fixing grammar/spelling mistakes.
> 
> Don't be afraid of leaving feedback, it's always pleasant to find a comment in my works :)


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